


Some Minor Burglary in the Pursuit of a Higher Truth

by moemachina



Category: Lockout - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 19:05:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/601096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moemachina/pseuds/moemachina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snow took a long drag on his cigarette. "This is not my idea of a hot date."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Minor Burglary in the Pursuit of a Higher Truth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ishie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ishie/gifts).



She bought a disposable phone, a bottle of mineral water, and nail polish at a twenty-four-hour convenience store. The clerk behind the plastic bullet-shield barely looked at her. He was focused on a little holo-reader next to the cash register. She saw the flickering shape of a small space station falling in miniature beside his elbow as he counted out her change. 

Her new phone was emblazoned with the picture of an enormous-eyed unicorn, and as she peeled it free from its plastic pouch, glitter flaked off on her hands. The first thing she did was paint a bold red stripe of nail polish over the phone's plastic camera eye. While she waited for it to dry, she drank the mineral water. She was sitting on a bench outside the convenience store, and she could see little plastic baggies scattered on the cement beneath her feet. It was five in the morning.

By the time she got him on the phone, her father was both sleepy and mildly apoplectic. He wanted to know where she was. He wanted to know if she had any idea of the pain and suffering she was causing him. He wanted to know when she was coming home.

"Not yet," she said. "I'm sorry."

"Emilie," he whispered, and she heard the strain in his voice. "Emilie, sweetheart. Why are you doing this?"

Emilie squinted at the horizon. "I'm sorry," she said again, patiently. "You have to trust me."

"You took out your chip," her father said, and Emilie involuntarily looked at her left arm and the adhesive bandage near her elbow. That had involved a long hour, a sharp knife, and a bottle of Jack.

"Yes," she said. "I had to. Otherwise, you would have come and gotten me, and I can't come back yet. But I'm fine. Really."

"Emilie, what can you possibly accomplish alone?" her father asked. 

"Alone? Alone, not a lot, no," Emilie said, checking her watch. "Look, daddy, I have to go now. But I love you." 

"I love you too," he said with a catch in his voice. Emilie terminated the connection before he could start crying.

Next to the bench, there was a trash can stuffed with empty coffee cups and discarded stim needles. She dropped the glittering unicorn phone in the trash and began moving away with quick, purposeful steps. She estimated that she had ten or maybe fifteen minutes before men in dark suits started showing up, tracking the phone's location signal. 

She held on to the empty bottle of mineral water until she passed a recycling bin.

****

Snow took a long drag on his cigarette. "This is not my idea of a hot date."

"No?"

It was night again. Emilie was trying not to think of how long it had been since she slept.

"You said we were going bowling or something."

"Or _something_ ," Emilie said. "This is something." 

Snow craned his neck to survey the darkened office building before them. "This is barely something. It's mostly nothing." 

"Aren't you curious?"

"Nope," he said. "Got no use for curiosity. Not since it killed that cat. Also not since I was released from prison three hours ago. You know what really kills curiosity? _Prison._ " 

"Do you know who works there?" 

Snow closed his eyes. "Are we playing a question game? Do I get a prize if I guess? Is it bigger than a bread-box? We're in DC, after all. Is it an NGO? Some corrupt governor? Is this where the NSA is secretly headquartered?"

"This is the office of the lobbying firm Rogers and Rogers," Emilie said, as if Snow had not spoken. "One of their clients was MS-1."

Snow leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. "Fascinating." 

"Did you know that this office has spent the past twenty-four hours shredding documents?" 

"Oh, yeah?" Snow smiled sardonically. "In this day and age? Isn't everything electronic? Scanned, digitized, intangible?" 

"I have a sorority sister who interned there last summer," Emilie said. "Her job was mostly to make print-outs. You'd be surprised at how much gets _printed out_ in this day and age." 

"A sorority sister, huh?" 

Emilie rolled her eyes. "Yeah. I was in a sorority. Are you surprised?"

"Nope. Not at all. It's pretty much exactly as I imagined." 

"Oh, good," Emilie said. "I'm glad to be predictable." 

"Mmmm," Snow said. "I imagine there were a lot of pillow fights in your underwear." 

"Nightly. And then, when we were naughty, we had to spank each other with giant paddles." 

"Hold on," Snow said. "I just need a little more time to...imagine this..." 

"And during the day, when we weren't too tired from our nocturnal activities, we would do community service and internships at mid-level law firms and think-tanks. Which is why I knew Sandy had worked here. She was the one who heard about the shredding panic."

Snow opened his eyes. "So what's the plan, princess?" His voice was different now, colder and flatter. "A little breaking and entering? Some minor burglary in the pursuit of a higher truth?" 

Emilie looked at him. His face was shadowed, but she could make out the glowing tip of the cigarette in his mouth. "And what if it was?" 

"Because I'm bound to tell you it's a damn fool plan. There's a security guard in that building. There are cameras throughout. You'd need a key-pass to have access to any of the doors. And even once you were inside, finding the files you're looking for would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. You'd need some sort of genius computer hacker for this to work. Are you a genius computer hacker?" 

"I made a website when I was twelve," Emilie said. "It was about ponies." 

Snow snorted. "No way. There's no way I'm letting you do this." 

"Are you saying that because you'd stop me?" Emilie asked, watching the flickering cigarette tip. "Or are you saying that because you'd go in my place?" 

Snow said nothing. The cigarette tip did not move. 

"Then I have some good news for you," Emilie said as she reached into her purse. "Because I know that we can't get past the security guard. Or evade the cameras. I have no idea where they're keeping the MS-1 files. And they took away my friend's key-pass at the end of the summer internship." She opened her hand, and a small metal key glinted in her hands. "But she forgot to give them the key to the recycling dumpster."

Snow coughed. "The dumpster?" 

"Yep," Emilie said. "The dumpster. The place where they're dumping all that shredded paperwork." 

"The _dumpster_." 

"Yeah," Emilie said. "And trash and recycling pick-up is tomorrow." 

"So what then? You gonna put all those spreadsheets and incriminating e-mails back together? Little sliver by little sliver?" 

"I've always been good at jigsaw puzzles," Emilie said. "And, besides, I think...I think I'm about to have a lot of free time on my hands. It'll pass the time." 

"So we're stealing a bunch of incriminating recycling," Snow sighed. " _Still_ not a hot date." 

Emilie checked her watch. "Like you had anything better lined up for tonight. Come on. The security guard's favorite soap just came on. He won't be checking the perimeter of the building for at least an hour." 

"So tell me," Snow said as they stealthily crept across the deserted parking lot. "In this daring heist you've outlined, what exactly is my role? Why did you need me?" 

The dumpster was a shoulder-high block of shadow on the side of the building. Emilie felt along its edge for the padlock. "Maybe I just wanted the company, Snow." 

"I can't blame you," Snow said. "My conversational charm is legendary." 

The padlock was fat and greasy, and it took Emilie several tries before she mated the key and its lock. "Also, I thought maybe we could bring the dumpster home. I thought I might need someone to help me push." 

Snow knocked his hand against the side of the dumpster. "This baby? This baby is a tank. It's not going anywhere. Why do they lock it?"

"There's a homeless settlement under the overpass a couple of blocks away," Emilie said. "Maybe they wanted to discourage their neighbors from dumpster diving." She hoisted up the top of the dumpster and peered over its side. In the dim light of the street lights, she could see a nest of ribboned paper. "Jesus, there's a lot of it. Hmmm. Time for Plan B."

"You said they spent the day shredding," Snow said. "Did you think they were shredding each page individually?" 

Emilie frowned. "Maybe we can get some...plastic bags? Start stuffing paper in them? Make multiple trips back here to get it all?"

"Is that Plan B?" Snow asked. "Because Plan B sounds terrible. Hold on, princess. You stay out of sight here, and I'll be right back." 

In the time he was gone, Emilie had a lot of time to ponder her day and her life choices. It had been a long day, but she was feeling relatively okay about her life choices.

She heard Snow return before she saw him. He was preceded by the sound of rusty squeaking. When he rattled into sight around the corner of the dumpster, he was pushing an ancient grocery cart. 

"Your chariot, my lady," he announced.

"Have you been shopping?" 

"Hardly," Snow said. "Those places all have little radio safeguards on their trolleys. The wheels lock up as soon as you leave the parking lot. No, instead I walked over to the overpass and met some charming men who had stolen some grocery carts and figured out how to disable the safeguards." He dragged the cart back and forth, and a rusty wheel gave an agonized scream. "See? Runs like a dream."

"Did you just take it?"

"Of course not," Snow said, and for the first time, his voice held real irritation. "What do you take me for? I gave them a hundred bucks. They were happy to sell." 

Emilie held up her hands. "Okay, okay. Good idea, Snow. Well done, Snow." 

"Thank you," Snow said. "I live to be appreciated. Now come on and help me dump all this stuff here. I don't think that guard's soap is going to run for much longer." 

They moved with the rapid purpose of people stealing something in the not-entirely-dark. Ribbons of paper danced through the air and settled on their hair as they reached, again and again, into the dumpster to pull out snarled heaps.

"What I don't understand is: why _recycle_ it?"

"They're corrupt but environmentally conscious?"

"Amateurs. Is this good enough?"

Emilie ran a reluctant hand through her close-cropped hair. "Yeah. I guess. This is most of it, anyway." 

They pushed together, and the wheel of the cart sounded like a small, dying animal. 

"So, princess," Snow grunted. "I'm almost afraid to ask, but where are we going with all this stuff? I hope you're not planning to wheel this up Pennsylvania Avenue." 

"Ah," Emilie breathed as the cart began to leadenly rattle through the parking lot. "Remember when you asked why I had invited you along?" 

"Oh, no," Snow said. "Look, no. That's impossible." 

"Come on," Emilie said. "Didn't you want a pretext to invite me back to your place?"

"Like I need a pretext," Snow said. "I think that _you_ needed a pretext. And this is flattering as hell, princess, but I think there were easier ways to get my attention." 

"Shut up, Snow. Just push."

****

"It's just temporary."

"Damn _right_ it's just temporary," Snow said. "I don't need a grocery cart full of trash to _live_ in my living room."

Emilie looked around the "living room." Other than the grocery cart, it was devoid of furniture. 

"Well, I can see why. It clashes with the rest of the decor." 

"I believe in minimalism," Snow said. "Also, I pretty much just use this place to crash when I'm in town. It's a safe-house." 

"A safe-house full of ramen noodles and Yuengling," Emilie said. 

" _Minimalism_ ," Snow said. "Except when it comes to my bed. It's an extensive piece of furniture, I assure you." 

"Mmm," Emilie said. She was leaning against the wall. After an hour and a half of hustling a rickety grocery cart through the back alleys of DC, the lack of shut-eye was beginning to catch up with her. 

"So what's the end goal of all this?"

Emilie opened her eyes. "I told you. I go through what they shredded. I find out what they're hiding about MS-1." 

"And then? What happens then? Does a magic justice fairy appear and right all the wrongs you've found?" 

Emilie looked at the floor. "No." 

"Why not just go to the proper authorities with this? I bet the feds would just _love_ the chance to go dumpster diving." 

"I will," Emilie said. "Eventually. But I'm not an idiot, Snow. There's a lot of people who could be implicated in this. I need better evidence before I go forward."

Snow snorted. "Gotta tell you something, Emilie. That waste bin on wheels over there? That will not count as admissible evidence." 

"It doesn't need to," Emilie said. "It just needs to steer me in the right direction, toward the right people." 

"And what happens then?" 

"You know, Snow, I do happen to be on the board of a _number_ of humanitarian organizations that were concerned about MS-1, in one capacity or another," Emilie said with irritation. 

"A _number_ , you say? So your secret weapon is ladies who lunch?" 

"No, my secret weapon is that I know some people. Once I have this information, I know who can use it. I'm not just a lone vigilante." 

"No, of course not," Snow said. "You're just the president's daughter." His tone had changed, and he was staring at the ground. 

"That, too," Emilie said, watching him carefully.

"Where are your Secret Service agents, again?" 

"I gave them the night off," Emilie said, and she cocked her head to one side. "Do you miss them, Snow?" 

"Oh, well, you know, I was trying to put together a bridge game," Snow said. "You know how it is. I never have enough partners to go around the table."

Emilie straightened away from the wall. "How many partners do you need? Because here I am. And I'm willing to play." 

Snow gave a slightly convulsive start, despite himself. "Are you coming onto me, princess?" 

Emilie was standing close enough to him that she could feel the body heat rising off him. "Definitely." 

Snow lowered his voice to a husky whisper. "And are you maybe using sex to distract me from these inconvenient questions?" 

Emilie ran her hand up his arm to his right shoulder "Maybe." 

When Snow kissed her, she could taste cigarettes and bourbon. 

When he pulled back, they were both a little breathless. "And maybe," he panted, "maybe you're also hoping that this will make me forget that you're abandoning a fucking grocery cart in my living room." 

"It's a distinct possibility," Emilie said, kissing the side of his mouth. It felt rough with stubble. "Although I think a lot of people would consider it an improvement over the original design." She kissed the other side of his mouth. "It's a conversation piece." 

"It's on occasions such as this," Snow said, "that I wish I weren't quite _so_ easy."

****

"Are you coming back?"

Emilie pulled her shirt over the top of her head. "Um, sure." 

"That did not sound convincing, Warnock. Try harder. Or is this just a _one-night stand_ to you?" Snow mimed tears. 

"Well, I'm coming back. Eventually." 

"Eventually," Snow said tonelessly. 

"But I might be coming back with some Secret Service agents." 

"Kinky." 

"Mmm-hmm," Emilie said.

"So this means that you're going back to dear old dad?" 

"For the moment," Emilie said. "I have to come in from the cold eventually. It might as well be now, before he calls out the troops to find me." 

"Uh-huh," Snow said. "And am I right in remembering that there is still a fucking grocery cart in my living room?" 

"Can't put much past you, baby." 

"Was this your plan from the beginning?"

"No," Emilie said easily. "No, I was planning to lie low somewhere a little longer. But you're right, you know. It makes sense for me to go back and see what I can do with the full power of the law behind me." 

"And what happens to the grocery cart?"

"I'll retrieve it soon," Emilie said. "I promise."

"How long are you going to stay?" 

"We'll see. Much will depend on how much freedom my father is willing to grant me." 

"It won't be as easy to get away next time."

Emilie stared at him. "Easy? It won't be as easy as being held hostage in a free-falling space station and then fleeing from a hospital where I was being treated for trauma?" 

"Yep," Snow said. "Next time, there might be some real obstacles." 

"Well, it's possible." Emilie leaned down and kissed the top of his head. "Would you come rescue me, if I needed it?" 

"Depends on my schedule," Snow said. "Tuesdays are good, though." 

"I'll shoot for Tuesdays, then," Emilie said.

****

When Snow dropped her off at the metro stop, Emilie wandered the station until she found a dingy vending machine tucked into one corner. It dispensed disposable phones. Emilie slid a credit-chip through the machine's chip-reader, and a phone emblazoned with the picture of an enormous-eyed unicorn dropped to the bottom of the compartment.

To Snow's number, she texted: _Do you want to come bowling some time?_

After several moments, she received: **i hate texting**

_There's free popcorn. :)_

**also no to emoticons**

_My SS Agents throw a mean b-ball._

**nice try nobody says that**

and then:

**is this going to interfere with saving the world??**

_We can multi-task._

**tuesday?**

_Tuesdays are good._

**deal**

****


End file.
